by CJ Carver
She told the dispatcher she was under attack. That the men had guns. The police told her to go somewhere safe. She left the line open. Shoved on a pair of trainers. Ran to the back door, flung it open and raced across the orchard. She paused when she came to the little bridge that crossed the stream.
‘Poppy!’ she shouted. ‘Come!’
She tore over the bridge and into the field. Her vision hadn’t yet adjusted to the darkness and she stumbled over an anthill, nearly falling to her knees. She staggered forward, gathering her momentum. When she heard something behind her she turned, fear jagging, but the form that loomed brought a sob to her throat. A choking sound of relief.
Poppy.
‘Here, girl.’ She patted the dog briefly. ‘Well done.’
Her vision was better now, and she could see the outlines of trees and hedges, the gap where a gate stood. She headed for it, jogging fast, her breath hot in her throat, her heart pounding. She’d keep running until she found a road, a house, a service station. Bright lights and people. Safety.
She chanced a glance over her shoulder. Outlined on the bridge was a man’s form, headed her way. He held a torch. He was following her footsteps, made obvious in the damp grass.
She fumbled her pay-as-you-go phone from her back pocket.
‘I’m in the field behind the house,’ she told the dispatcher. ‘A man is chasing me. He’s got a gun.’
‘Stay on the phone.’
She put it back into her pocket. Kept running. Poppy loped easily at her side.
As she neared the gate, a pair of headlights came into view. A car slowed then pulled over. Jenny saw a woman’s outline emerge. Jenny veered away, ran flat out for the other end of the field, towards the trees.
Thank God Aimee was with Lucy. And that the girl had instinctively liked the policewoman and gone with her unquestioningly. Please keep Aimee safe. And where was Dan? What had Lucy said? Dan’s on his way but I was closer.
Who were these people? Was it to do with Dan’s job? Did they want to kidnap her to ransom her in some way? Aimee would be a more potent bargaining chip but if she was safe . . .
And what about Blain? He was English, he’d been watching her outside the house in Wales. Poppy had remembered him, could sense Aimee and Jenny’s terror, which was why she’d attacked him. What did he want?
She stumbled again. She was tiring rapidly but she pressed on. If she could reach the trees, maybe she could hide, keep as still and quiet as a mouse until dawn and then creep to safety. You fool, she told herself. They’re trained professionals and they’ll track you until they’ve cornered you in your foxhole. Her safest bet was to get to a village, a pub, anywhere with people.
She reached the trees and paused. No vehicles. No music. Just the faint sound of a passenger jet overhead. Had she outrun them? She quickly walked through the trees, winding her way around thickets of shrubs and fallen branches. Poppy moved quietly alongside.
A tinny voice reached her. She snatched up the phone. The dispatcher said, ‘A team is at the cottage. Where are you?’
Jenny gave them directions. ‘They’re behind me. A man and a woman. They’re armed. I have to keep going. I don’t want them to catch up with me. Please, hurry.’
She put the phone back into her pocket. Paused when she reached a dirt track that cut through the wood. She tried to take an aerial view, and visualise what lay at each end. She was pretty sure a village lay to the west, so she turned that way, launching into a run now she had a clearer path.
Finally she broke from the trees onto a road. A huge oak stood opposite. There was a road traffic sign indicating a sharp bend in the road and another saying NETTLETON WELCOMES CAREFUL DRIVERS.
Her spirits leaped. She knew where she was. Nettleton’s pub was barely a quarter of a mile away. Saturday night, it should be busy. Noisy with people enjoying an evening out, lots of people. She accelerated down the road but slowed when she saw a pair of headlights shining ahead. The next second, a car appeared around the corner, just two hundred yards away. And accelerated straight for her.
Jenny pelted for the trees on the other side of the road. The engine gunned after her.
She ran as fast as she could.
She heard the sound of wheels sliding on damp tarmac as the driver braked hard. Heard a door slamming. The engine continued to run. She didn’t turn and look back. She concentrated on running.
Nothing but the sound of her breath in her throat, her feet pounding, twigs and branches snapping beneath her feet.
Then came the sound of someone behind her. A man, breathing hard. He was moving faster than her. Much faster.
Please God, help me.
She grabbed her phone. She was half-sobbing as she spoke. ‘He’s right behind me. Help . . .’
She put every effort into running as fast as she could. She saw a wide, sturdy tree trunk and ahead. Came to a lurching stop. Grabbed Poppy. ‘Get him,’ she hissed. She pointed at the figure hurtling towards them.
The dog looked at her then back at the man.
‘Poppy. Get him.’
She gave the dog a shove.
The Rottweiler launched herself at their pursuer. Jenny ran for the tree. Dived behind it.
She heard the man shout. Then came Poppy’s throaty, snarling roar. The man shouted again. Fired his gun. Fired it again.
Poppy gave a single scream of pain.
Silence.
Oh God Oh God Oh God. He’s shot Poppy.
Jenny put the phone to her ear. ‘Help,’ she bleated. She didn’t waste time looking for the dog. She began running again but she’d barely gone twenty yards when she felt the man’s hand close on her shirt collar. He dragged her to a halt.
She turned and tried to hit him but he warded her off easily. He was much bigger than her. She felt like a mouse swatting a bear. He trapped her hands in his. She lashed out with her feet but she was wearing sports shoes and they had little effect. She was shouting and yelling but he stood resolutely holding her.
The woman arrived. She said something in a foreign language to the man. It sounded East European, maybe Russian. The man nodded. The woman came close and leaned forward and that was when Jenny saw the syringe. Jenny reared wildly backwards, panic-stricken, yelling, ‘They’ve got a syringe. Oh God, they’re going to inject me, please someone help . . .’
And the needle went into her thigh and she was screaming No! but a cloud formed at the back of her head and she tried to fight it but it thickened, crept over her skull and her knees weakened, her mouth slackened and the last she remembered was the man leaning forward and letting her torso fall over his shoulder.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Dan pulled on to the verge and leaped out of his car. Ran to the ambulance. A man sat inside. His face was white. He was covered in blood. He was staring into the distance with a blank expression, obviously in shock. A medic was bandaging his hands, which looked as though they’d been through a mincing machine.
‘Who are you?’ Dan asked the blood-drenched man.
The man licked his lips. ‘Nicholas Blain.’
Dan turned to the medic. ‘Do not, under any circumstances, let this man go. I’m a policeman, OK? I want to talk to him.’ He didn’t care that he’d lied. It took too long to tell the truth.
Dan ran to the cottage.
‘Sir!’ A policeman stopped him.
‘I’m Dan Forrester. The woman who was here, she’s my wife. Where is she?’
He didn’t ask about Aimee because Lucy had rung him fifteen minutes ago to tell him she had Aimee safely with her in a service station on the M20. He’d asked her to wait there until he told them what to do next.
‘A team’s been dispatched,’ the policeman told him. ‘To the outskirts of Nettleton. We’re following your wife’s phone signal.’
‘TFU?’ Dan asked. Tactical Firearms Unit.
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Show me where.’
The policeman didn’t demur, which meant Bernard had obviously
put things into motion since Dan called him earlier. The cop pulled out his phone. Brought up Google maps. Dan had a quick look, memorised the route. Neddy was lying on the driveway next to a big leather wallet, both no doubt dropped in the panic. The wallet contained their passports, all their paperwork, and Dan bet that’s what had delayed Jenny. Picking up both Neddy and the wallet, Dan raced to Jenny’s car. Ducked down to see a small plastic device attached to the chassis. A tracker, which Dan assumed Blain had attached. Had the Russians then followed Blain here? No time to think. He had to get to Jenny.
Four police cars were parked on the lane on Nettleton’s limits. He felt a moment of relief that they’d taken his call seriously. He had a quick word with the officer operating the in-car comms before setting off into the wood. It didn’t take long before he saw the team, fanned out and searching the area. He called out his name, holding his hands high, not wanting to get shot. One of the cops came over. Dan showed him his driver’s licence as ID.
‘Where’s Jenny?’ Dan asked.
‘We found her phone by the tree.’ He gestured at a female PC standing just ahead, next to an oak tree. ‘But no sign of your wife. She kept the line open. We heard everything . . . she said they had a syringe . . .’
Dan’s could hear every word the policeman said but he felt as though he was a very long way away, at the end of a long dark tunnel. Jenny had been kidnapped by the FSB. Despite his best efforts, he hadn’t been able to prevent it. A dark dread rose inside him. An ice-cold feeling that crept through every vein and into his heart.
‘We found something,’ the policeman said.
Dan’s mouth turned dry. ‘What?’ he asked, but the policeman didn’t respond. Just led the way through the trees.
Next to a spreading rhododendron the policeman stopped and squatted down, pushing branches aside. Dan stepped close and for a moment he couldn’t see anything, and then he saw a still, dark shape on the ground.
‘Poppy.’
At the sound of his voice, the dog whimpered. It was a pathetic sound, filled with pain and desperation.
‘We’ve called the vet,’ the policeman told him. ‘We believe your wife set the dog on her attackers, who shot it.’
‘Oh, Pops.’ He knelt down and stroked her head. The dog closed her eyes and made a groaning sound. He wanted to cry. He wanted to throw up, to scream. Anger, fear and rage thundered inside him but he took each emotion carefully and put it in a small black box deep inside his core. He would let them out later. When he’d found Jenny. Brought her home safely. Made the people who’d taken her pay.
Ice-calm, he rose to his feet.
The policeman said, ‘We’ve put an APB on the hire car. It shouldn’t be long until we find it.’
The FSB wouldn’t let it be so easy. Dan bet they had a backup plan should they be forced to ditch the car, or another team in place that could pick them up fast.
Despite the fact his intellect knew Jenny wasn’t in the wood any more, that she’d been kidnapped, Dan couldn’t help scouring the area. It was only after the vet arrived that Dan felt it was OK to leave. ‘Save the dog,’ he told the vet. ‘Whatever it takes.’
Dan wasn’t allowed to speak to Blain until he’d been treated by the surgeon so he drove to the service station where Lucy and Aimee were waiting. He wasn’t sure what to tell Aimee. He didn’t want to frighten her, but wanted to avoid lying if he could. Giving her false assurances when her world might never be the same would simply instil false hope. He’d have to bite the bullet and give an accurate appraisal of the situation, but not right now. He didn’t want to break this in public. He wanted to give her time to absorb what he said, ask questions, cry if she wanted, and be hugged as much as needed.
‘Daddyyy!’ Aimee lurched across the restaurant. She’d been lying fast asleep across Lucy’s lap, wrapped in a new-looking pink blanket decorated with elephants, thumb in her mouth and obviously exhausted. Lucy, on the other hand, had been as alert as a meerkat and had spotted him the instant he stepped into view.
Now, his daughter hugged him, her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck. She was still half asleep and rested her head against the pad of his chest. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of toast and cheese clinging to her hair. Even though he’d locked his emotions away, inside his chest the sun flared, blue surf crested, children ran along the sand. He held her close, swearing silently he’d bring her mother back, that he was prepared to do anything, no matter how crazy. Things that might get him into trouble. Get him hurt. Beyond that, he knew nothing. He just had to get his family back together.
‘Has Lucy been looking after you?’ he asked, more to see what state of mind Aimee was in than check up on the policewoman.
His daughter yawned. ‘She wouldn’t let me have any chocolate.’
‘Did she give a reason?’
Aimee wriggled. She didn’t answer.
‘Aimee?’ he prompted gently.
She sighed exaggeratedly against his neck. ‘I’d already had some ice cream.’
‘What sort of ice cream?’
Another sigh. ‘Chocolate.’
He leaned back to peer into her face. ‘I’d say that was a good reason, wouldn’t you?’
‘I s’pose so.’ Her words were reluctant but not because she was traumatised; it was her normal response to a situation where she wasn’t allowed to have her own way.
He carried her to Lucy’s table, his chin on top of her head. He said, ‘I’m here with you now, munchkin. Everything’s going to be OK.’
The fact that she wasn’t showing any signs of bewilderment or anxiety meant Lucy had done an exemplary job in removing Aimee when she had and then explaining things so as not to panic her. He checked his daughter carefully. No overt signs of shock that he could ascertain, but it didn’t mean that she wasn’t feeling confused and overwhelmed by what had happened. Thank God she hadn’t seen her mother kidnapped, or Poppy shot. Lucy told him that as far as she could tell, Aimee had seen a car arrive but had been chatting to the dog on the back seat and hadn’t taken much notice until Poppy suddenly scrambled into the front, and bolted out of the open passenger door.
It was, Lucy told him, just after Poppy attacked Blain that Jenny had screamed at Lucy to get Aimee out of there.
‘Where is Mummy?’ Aimee wanted to know.
‘The last we heard, she was with Poppy. Poppy got hurt and the vet’s taken her to hospital.’
Aimee’s eyes widened. ‘How did she get hurt?’
‘She was shot.’
He felt more than saw Lucy’s blink of surprise at his honesty.
‘Who shot her?’ Aimee asked.
‘A bad man.’
Long silence.
‘Why?’
‘Poppy was defending Mummy.’
Aimee’s expression cleared. ‘The man Poppy knocked over shot her?’
Dan decided to keep things simple. ‘Yes.’
‘That’s why Mummy shouted for us to go away.’
‘Yes.’
‘When can I visit Poppy?’
Dan was glad her attention was more on the dog than her mother at the moment. It made his life easier. They talked about the vet for a while and when Aimee’s eyes began to droop he tucked the blanket around her and cuddled her until she was asleep. Then he gently moved Aimee to nestle at his side. Lucy bought two coffees, a toasted panini and two chocolate brownies. He wolfed down his panini, sitting close enough to Lucy so they could talk quietly.
‘I don’t understand,’ Lucy said, obviously baffled. ‘They’ve kidnapped Jenny?’
‘It looks like it. An APB’s out on their car and for good measure my old employer is activating all ports to look out for them.’ He glanced at his daughter. ‘I’ll take Aimee to her grandparents tonight. I want to see Adrian Calder. I spoke to him earlier. He’s already on his way south. Apparently he’s got his mother-in-law with him.’
‘Irene Cavendish.’
‘That’s the one.’ He
started on his brownie, speaking between mouthfuls. ‘I know you’ve already told me on the phone, but I need you to tell me again exactly what happened.’
It didn’t take long. From Lucy’s arrival at the cottage to the second she’d raced off with Aimee had barely taken three minutes, but Dan went through the details meticulously, not wanting to miss anything.
When he’d finished the debriefing it was approaching midnight. Lucy was fiddling with a thread that had come loose on her jacket. She said, ‘It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let Jenny go upstairs . . . I should have grabbed her and forced her out. I’m sorry.’
‘You can’t blame yourself. She went to get our passports. Family documents. And once Jenny’s on a mission, God help you if you intervene.’
‘Even so . . .’ Lucy bit her lip, looking mortified.
‘Don’t,’ he told her, but he knew she’d beat herself up over it. She would rerun the event over and over, replaying how she thought she should have acted until she knew that next time it would happen the way she wanted. She was like him in that respect. A perfectionist.
They talked some more. Sharing information, going over everything they knew. This time, however, Dan told Lucy about his Russian sojourn. Although he could see she tried to keep her expression professionally neutral, emotions flitted across her face: horror, dismay, excitement. As he spoke, he wondered where Milena was, and whether Ekaterina had had her blood transfusion.
He finished by saying, ‘The FSB are looking for a man called Zama Kasofsky.’
‘Zama?’ Lucy was electrified. ‘That’s the same name Calder mentioned. And I swear Irene recognised the name even though she denied it.’
The nape of Dan’s neck tingled.
‘Who is he?’ Lucy asked but all Dan could do was shake his head. ‘Hopefully I’ll find out when I ask Calder tonight.’
‘Let me know.’ Lucy’s phone buzzed. She answered it, mouthing, my boss. ‘Hi Mac . . . yes, yes. Oh, that’s fantastic.’ She listened briefly before covering the mouthpiece and hissing to Dan: ‘They’ve found the Mondeo.’
It was as though a thunderbolt had charged through him.
